


Mistakes Like This

by Anonymous



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 22:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It feels like the last time.





	Mistakes Like This

When Armie pushes in it feels like the last time.

It feels like a curtain call. Dusk without the promise of dawn. A tunnel without light. A candle that’s lost it’s battle to the wind.

He wants everything and more, he wants nothing at all.

He wants the bright lights and the gleaming faces, all happy to see him shining, a star to be. A fucking star.

But more than ever he wants the stars between them, entwined, shining through ever moving limbs under a pitch black sky. He wants freedom. Freedom to live, freedom to be.

The simplest pleasures aren’t enough anymore. The advertised faces, shiny necklaces and sponsored Louboutin's don’t do much anymore. They weigh heavy with a pang of emptiness latched to it. He had thought the glitz and riches was what made people so utterly complete.

He latches onto Armie’s shoulder and feels completely pitted from the inside.

Armie grunts. Moans in his ear, strokes through his hair. It’s a try at comforting, it makes it worse.

He feels the death upon them. Creeping into their spines. Telling their heads what’s coming. To mourn this moment.

He’ll be gone too soon.

The edge of pain with Armie’s strokes is the only pleasure he can seek. He feels the too deep drag. The soreness. The ache that mends his heart, just a little, just a stitch.

He usually says something, ow, or stop. He can take it. He’ll take much worse.

“Bite me,” he grits, exposing his neck even though it’s pathetic. It’s stupid and dangerous, he’s got a shoot tomorrow but his empathy is drained.

Armie’s eyes flutter, lashes batting long as his gaze wavers, the darkness of his bedroom masking the tenseness bloomed in both their expressions.

He leans down.

Kisses his cheek, his nose, his chin. Holds his face in a hand that’s as long as his skull and puffs little exhales in his ear on every stroke. Armie pushes his thigh up higher and he feels his belly crease in a thin line, cold air wash over his thighs.

He slips out, and presses back in with just a second of resistance.

Timmy’s heart pangs in his chest, clenches his hole involuntarily, his chest rising in incoherent patterns as he adjusts again. It’s always raw, new. To find space in his narrow crevice.

His fingers kiss Armie’s shoulder blades and leave chapped red like marks with the pressure.

Soft sounds of broken whimpers leave his mouth. Armie watches his with his eyes, cradles his hips like they’re made of doll parts and fucks in smooth, deep and soul crushing.

“Hurt me,” he thinks, doesn’t think he says, but when Armie stops he knows he heard.

A heartbeat, two.

“You want me to?” Armie rasps. Throat sounding drier than before.

He flicks their gazes together, two oceans that aren’t of the same water, different temperatures. Not meant to mix.

“I need you to.”

He clenches his eyes shut and let’s his hands fall lax, his thighs like jelly and his legs mobile. He’d let Armie twist his wispy limbs like a pretzel if he wanted to.

Armie’s thrust speed up, rubs his tummy like he can feel himself in there, marking what was his and may never be again.

“I’m not her,” he gasps, sobbing openly. Finally finding that twisted relief of breaking down after all the build up. It’s been tied to him for months. These fleeting moments. The hidden part of their relationship. How he’ll never be able to openly love him the way Elizabeth can.

Armie furrows his brows, pained. He stops.

“Don’t stop, please, please Armie,” he cries, tightening his ankles around him, begging him deeper.

Armie sighs, a hitch of breath catching in his throat, he nods, smoothing a hand across Timmy’s thigh.

“You’re okay,” Armie says, pushing in roughly, finally understanding what he needs. Believing him.

He nearly cries out but dies it down by biting his fist.

More, he wants, doesn’t plead.

Armie starts thrusting painfully hard and it’s bliss. It hurts to the point Timmy accepts the beauty of it.

/

When he curls up later in the sheets he feels bruises marking his core. A tightness in his belly.

He has to accept the funeral of them.

Armie looks him over, once, twice. Sighs and crawls into bed next to him.

He closes his thighs together, hiding the evidence of their newly created past. A moment never lost, but to be forever stuck in time.

He wonders what Liz is doing, wonders if his PR team, and all Hollywood producers who need his life to be lies is sleeping well. If they’re cooped up in their ivory beds and with pride in their hearts. If they’re happy with the man they made of him. Somber. Kissing girls. Straight.

They want cookie cutter, they’ll break him in anyway to fit the mould.

Armie rubs his shoulder, thick pads grazing.

One last look before he’s set to leave for the airport, It’s wavering full, scared. Remorseful.

Armie sighs against his cheek and it feels like the last time.

“I don’t need you to be her.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm babyboytimmy on Tumblr ✨


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